Poached eggs in refried beans

There's a panoply of elaborate food preparation that gives Romanian traditional culture most of its flavourⁱ -- the boeuf salads made of fowl and so on. Among these -- maybe not chief among them but definitely not least among them either, the titular item :

Doesn't it look just fucking delicious ? (Except for the thing on the left, that's a slice of homemade bread covered in homemade zacusca, another item conceived to make the weaker sex bleed tears atop a hot stove after days' incessant labour -- we'll maybe get into some other time).

This is a breakfast dish ; in order to be able to make it for breakfast however you will need a well stocked kitchen. "Well stocked" here doesn't simply mean cirpatoare & knives, the material abundance of proper appurtenance ; it importantly also means things like bread that was taken out of the oven yesterday, which means in turn the woman was there yesterday, taking the damned thing out of the oven (instead of galivanting all over the roads & walking the streets pretending to "careers" like yours do). Because back in the old country, when we're talking of exhausting the female, we're not joking around. Exausted, spent, wrung out like the zdreantaⁱⁱ we're afraid she might contain within.

But anyways : things like, is what I said. Not actually that, but something like it. In our case, the thing like is a pot of beans with smoked meat, which requires as you no doubt do not know three to seven washings of the beans, not to mention cold smoked meat and the rest of the trims. It sits on a low fire for two to three hours to make itself, do you realise ? It takes just about half of the day's daylight to produce the damn thing!

That was yesterday ; today... well, today's today, the day's to be earned all over again. To which end, we take a few scoops of the beans from the fridged pot of smoked pork & beans, and we dump it in a strainer. Then enslaved damsels labour to strain the material, until the husks are separated on the inside, and all the bean pulp has grown out of the strainer, like some kind of a fantastic beard. It's hard, armbreaking labour that takes hours, and what's more : it's skilled! A novice can spend the whole day breaking her hands through incorrect application of force and still not produce a tenth of what a trained whore can squirt forth in five minutes! Does this characterization remind you of any other natural phenomena ?

As I was saying : to have this dish for breakfast, you need a well appointed kitchen. It must contain the objects that are needed, yes ; it must further contain the products of diligent, unceasing labour, yes ; it however also needs the very domestic slaves in question, too! They've gotta be there, present, ready, because the straining has to be done in time for this to still be breakfast, yes ? Therefore having the strainer and theⁱⁱⁱ spoon ain't good enough ; and having the material to put in them ain't good enough either, howsoever closer to good enough as it may well be.

Once the pulping's done, you take a butter knife and shave the strainer, which is itself quite fun, and which in turn brings to light an ancient point : to have fun, someone must organize it for you. It takes work, unwavering, ceaseless work smartly and dilligently applied, for the Master to enjoy his life. You dump it in a pot which all the while was being tended, hot oil crisping thinly sliced garlic just enough. You stir and keep adding oil as needed, until this thing turns into a sort of mayo sui generis, it's really not so different from the pea pastes that made the fame of Lebanon.

Once that's done, you crack say five eggs atop the mess (depending, obviously, how much mess you've got in the first place), watch them slowly coagulate for a moment, then put the lid on the pan, and walk away. This is a great time to play with their cunts, for instance, tickle the little rosebuds under their hoods or make them do oddly humiliating things that come to you on the spot -- within a quarter hour or so the breakfast's done, and then they'll have to eat it.

Geddit ?

PS. Crumble some Roquefort (produit du France!!!) on your egg, what can it possibly hurt. Oh and you did put marjoram on them right after breaking them, yes ? Or what, you do basel instead ?

1. It tastes of exhausted female, if you're curious, which happens to be the only deliciousness known on earth -- specifically because it's so perverse, which is to say the opposite of natural. [↩]
2. Derrogatory term for ambiguously either a rag or a prostitute. [↩]
3. Wooden. Silicone spatulas do not work for this. See, where subtlety lies ?

   Now go ask Hannah about making mayo by hand, and glassware, and things. [↩]